Memphis Trilogy
by TheYoungTimpani
Summary: Brennan is at a conference in Memphis, Tennessee and Booth can't stop thinking about her. Little does he know that she's feeling the same way.
1. Memphis Tennessee

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Bones or the song I use here. Lame, isn't it?

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**Author's Note: **So, I've had this around since about...December, but didn't post it because I hadn't been watching the show long and I didn't want to offend anyone if they were waaaaay OOC. Then I decided that I might as well post it. Even if its awful, nothing good's coming of it just sitting in my documents. Besides, hey, maybe someone will like it.

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_Long distance information, give me Memphis, Tennessee_

_Help me find the party trying to get in touch with me_

_She could not leave her number, but I know who placed the call_

_'Cause my uncle took the message and he wrote it on the wall_

_Help me, information, get in touch with my Marie_

_She's the only one who'd phone me here from __**Memphis, Tennessee**_

**-**Chuck Berry

Booth casually strode into the lab, looking for Brennan. He checked the platform, her office, and even sucked it up and checked Limbo, but she was nowhere to be found.

Confused, and not without a slight bit of concern, he walked into Angela's office.

The artist was skillfully working on on a painting of desert scenery. It was beautifully done; he almost didn't want to interrupt her, but this was about his Bones, so he did.

"Angela," he called, "Have you seen Bones today?"

"She's at that conference in Memphis, Booth," she said as though he should know that.

"What? No, she didn't- I haven't heard- Why didn't she tell me?" he asked, slightly offended that his partner that he was so close to had ran off without telling him.

"She didn't tell you? _Really?_" Angela asked dumbfounded.

"I swear, she never said a thing about Memphis. What's it for?"

"You know what her stuff is like. I try not to ask about these things. I find that if she doesn't tell you up front, you probably don't want to know," Angela said, making a disgusted face as she thought about some of the things that piqued her best friend's interests.

"Yeah, but, you know, she usually tells me stuff like this," Booth said sadly.

"Aww, Sweetie, don't worry about it. I'm sure she didn't mean anything by it. You know how she is sometimes, social courtesies don't always translate well into Brennanese," Angela tried to comfort him with a smile.

"Yeah...you know, that last case we worked, it- it got to her...a lot. I just- I just didn't want her to stay preoccupied with it," Booth sighed.

"Not even knights in shining armor could always be there for their damsels, Booth," Angela stated.

"Maybe that's why England got sacked so often," Booth commented, turning to leave.

**Thursday, 7 pm. Eastern Standard Time**

Booth pulled out his cell phone and called Brennan's number.

It rang once.

Was he calling because he was angry?

Twice.

Sad?

Three times.

Left out?

Four times.

Jealous?

Five times.

Confused?

Six times.

Worried?

He was worried.

He was worried, he was confused, he was feeling left out, he was sad, he was angry, he was even a little jealous.

Her voice mail picked up. A thousand different possible messages ran through his head from very angry ones to very needy ones.

Before he could decide what exactly to say, he was talking.

"Bones, you don't run off like that without telling me. Do you know how worried I was? I still am, since you didn't answer my call. Really, Bones, I need you to call me when you get the chance. I need to know you're okay."

He hung up his phone, sighed, and sank down in his chair.

**Thursday, 6 pm. Central Standard Time**

Brennan sank down in her seat in the crowded auditorium as a lecturer droned on about something she should have cared about, but just couldn't bring herself to. She was preoccupied with something. Part of it was the case she helped wrap just before leaving. The other part was the leaving.

It hadn't occurred to her at the time. At the time, she just wanted to get as far away from DC and the skeletons that haunted her dreams as she could get.

In retrospect, she really should have told Booth. It was not his fault that the case had turned out the way it had; she shouldn't have placed so much blame on him.

She shouldn't have placed _any _blame on him.

But she did.

She knew he would worry and it worried her.

Why did it worry her that he was worried?

It should make her angry that he thought he had to know every part of her life, but it didn't.

In fact, it made her feel...good that he cared enough about her to worry.

**Thursday, 10 pm. CST**

Brennan walked into her hotel room and heard her cell phone beep. She didn't even remember sitting it on the counter, but there it was. She checked the voice mail and saw she had one from Booth. She listened to the message and at first she was angry, but at the end, she heard the worry and desperation in his voice and felt a knot forming in her stomach, as physically impossible and irrational as that seemed.

She called him back and waited.

One ring.

Maybe there was something behind his talk of 'heartbreaking' or 'butterflies in stomach'.

Two rings.

Because if she could theorize on how live butterflies would feel if you existed in a hypothetical world where the insides of a human body were conducive to butterfly sustainability and they were able to fly within your abdominopelvic cavity, she would surmise that feeling would be similar to the one she was experiencing at this particular moment in time.

Three rings.

Also, his voice in the voice mail did feel as if he were experiencing emotional pain or trauma and if, in the hypothetical realm again, the heart really was the center of emotion then it would most definitely cause emotional pain or trauma for it to undergo a situation similar to 'breaking'.

Four rings.

And that feeling in her stomach. It certainly felt like a tight knot of tense muscles that suddenly appeared in the pit of her stomach.

Five rings.

Since when did she have feelings like knots or butterflies in her stomach. The only thing that was usually in her stomach was acid and partially digested food, the things that science has taught her should be in a stomach.

Six rings.

Could it really be that his voice from over a thousand miles away could do this to her? His _voice_?

Then his voice mail picked up and, without her brain censoring her, she spoke, "Booth, really, you have no justification for so much worry about my wellbeing. But since you are so worried, you should know that I blame nothing on you. It was just everything with the case. I was preoccupied and I just- I just...I just left. I know its irrational to call you back now. I'm an hour behind your time zone, so you're probably asleep. I'm sorry that I didn't tell you I was leaving, Booth."

She hung up the phone and got ready for bed hoping her apology would sate Booth.

**Thursday, 11 pm. EST**

Booth's phone lit up and vibrated on his kitchen counter, but he didn't hear it as he slept a fitful sleep in his bed. Tossing and turning, worrying about his Bones.

**Friday, 9 am. EST**

It was late.

Booth was late.

He hopped through the apartment trying to tie his shoe while holding his tie in his mouth. He poured a travel mug of coffee, shoved his cell phone in his pocket, and ran down to his SUV.

When he climbed in, the cell phone synced with the vehicle's Bluetooth and he checked his voice mail while tying his tie as he pulled out into the street.

After hearing at least six, 'You're late, Booth. Where the hell are you's from his boss, he got to Bones' message. He calmed down a bit just from listening to her voice.

He felt bad that he had been angry with her. He was such a jackass.

He called her cell phone and listened.

Ring.

She was probably busy.

Ring.

He should just leave her alone.

Ring.

He shouldn't dwell on this.

Ring.

But he couldn't help it.

Ring.

Something moved in him.

Ring.

He _had_ to call.

Her voice mail picked up again and he didn't know whether to be relieved or frustrated.

"Hey, Bones, I just wanted to say that its not your fault and I was being an ass. I hope you're having a good time doing whatever it is you're doing. If- uh- if you get the chance, get a picture of Graceland for me, please. That'd be- that'd be cool. Uh, so I guess I'll talk to you when you get a chance. Bye."

He hit the end call button and groaned. So much for saying something meaningful.

**Friday, 8 am. CST**

Brennan made her way through the crowd. She hated it here, she really did. Not the city, but the ordeal. All she wanted was to get back to working cases with Booth.

In fact, at the moment, she was really missing Booth.

She reached down for her cell phone, thinking of calling him, but couldn't find it.

She tore through everything on her person, but couldn't find the phone.

When she arrived at the convention hall, she had checked the time so she knew it had made it this far, but now it was nowhere to be found.

**Friday, 7 pm. CST**

On her twelfth trip to the lost-and-found station, Brennan was relieved to hear that someone had turned in her cell phone. She checked the voice mail and found two from Angela, one asking a question and the other retracting it with the promise that she'd 'Google it', and one from Booth.

Of its own volition, her chest clenched upon seeing his name in the inbox.

She listened to the message and groaned. How did they keep missing each other?

After his message ended, she dialed his number.

One ring.

There was really no need in returning this call.

Two rings.

Nothing from his last message indicated the desire for continued conversation.

Three rings.

But for some reason, she was calling him.

Four rings.

She didn't know why.

Five rings.

But she really, really wanted-

Six rings.

-to talk to him,

His voice mail picked up for the second time in the two days they had been apart and she groaned.

"Booth, I really don't know why I'm calling you back. Please stop blaming yourself. The matter really is very trivial. Oh, I've- uh- I've got tomorrow morning out, so I might go get you that picture...or you could- uh- you could call...so we could actually talk...to one another, It seems like it would be a lot more convenient and logical...to actually talk. Just, you know, if you get the time. I- uh...Bye, Booth," she hung up and rubbed her face with her hand.

They had been separated several times, why was this time bothering her so much more?

What had changed?

**Friday, 8 pm. EST**

Booth heard an urgent knocking on his door and scrambled to open it. On the other side was an excited looking Jack Hodgins.

"Hey, come on, man," he said, grabbing Booth's arm and pulling toward the exit.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa. Go where?"

"Out. Throw back a few cold ones. Guys night out," Hodgins grinned.

"'Guys'? What 'guys'? Me and you?" Booth grumbled.

"Nah; me, you, Fisher, Wendell, and your little FBI brain probe."

"I don't really feel like going out, Hodgins," Booth said moodily.

"You'd rather sit here in your apartment and count the hours until Dr. B comes home?" Hodgins said exasperatedly, "That's horrible and I'm not gonna let that happen. Come on."

Hodgins stared down his friend like a border collie eying a sheep. Booth allowed his friend to pull him int the hall and neither noticed Booth's cell phone ringing as the door slammed behind them.

**Saturday, 10 am. EST**

Booth woke up that morning groggy and frustrated, Last night he had vented his anger that he could never catch Bones and that frustration had stayed with him through his sleep. That morning, he decided that he wasn't going to deal with it anymore.

He picked up his cell phone to make a call and saw her message. He listened to the message and groaned.

He had to talk to her.

He called Angela.

"Hello?"

"Angela? Its Booth. Do you know what hotel Bones is staying at?"

"Not off hand...its a really big hotel in Memphis. That's all I know."

"Alright. Thanks. Bye."

"Bye."

He hung up without second thought to his briskness.

With a quick Google he found the hotel and its phone number. He dialed and a smooth voice with a Southern accent answered, "The Peabody Hotel, what can I help you with today?"

"Yeah, I'm FBI Special Agent Booth and I need to contact one of your guests," he replied, it wasn't a lie, they were just two unrelated statements.

"Alright, sir, what is the name of the guest?"

"Dr. Temperance Brennan."

"Alright, sir, I'm putting you through to Dr. Brennan's room right now."

"Okay, thanks."

"Mmhmm."

There was a brief pause.

"Hello?"

"Bones!"

"Booth?"

"The one and only."

"The world is grateful."

"You're getting better at the funny stuff."

"Thanks."

"How's your trip?"

"Fine."

"Its good to get to talk to you. I was tired of playing phone tag."

"I don't know what that means, but I am also happy to talk to you."

"Hey, Bones."

"What, Booth?"

"I miss you."

"I miss you, too."

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**A.N.: **In case all that EST/CST business messed you up, she's in CST (central time zone) and he's in EST (eastern time zone) and there's an hour difference.


	2. Walking in Memphis

**Disclaimer: **I don't own the song or Bones. I do own the OCs Rocko, Beauford, and Muriel. Any resemblance they bear to any person, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

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**Author's Note: **I was so excited about the reviews I recieved from people who live/ lived in Memphis! The locations in this story were vaguely Google Map'd (which is to say, the broad details are there, its the specifics that I just made up.

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_"W.C. Handy won't you look down over me_

_Yeah, I got a first-class ticket_

_But I'm as blue as a boy can be_

_Then I'm walking in Memphis_

_Was walking with my feet ten feet off of Beale_

_**Walking in Memphis**_

_But do I really feel the way I feel?"_

- Marc Cohn

A few hours after talking to Brennan, Booth was already wanting to talk to her again. He couldn't call, though. That would be desperate and needy.

Seeley Booth was _not _desperate and needy.

He just really missed his Bones.

Really, _really_ missed his Bones.

He groaned and ran his left hand through his hair and sighed deeply.

"Gaa!...This isn't normal!" he shouted up at his ceiling.

He dropped his head down into his hands on his lap, "I've gotta fix this," he mumbled. He stood up and walked over to a cabinet and dug out an atlas. He flipped to the U.S. highway map and used his fingers to measure the distance from Memphis to D.C.. It was probably about 700 miles as the crow flies. Probably around 900 miles along roads. At an average speed of 65, he could be there in- he calculated- about 15 hours.

If he left now, he could make it there by 11 tomorrow morning.

Before he could think about what he was doing, he threw together a suitcase and threw it in the back of his SUV.

**9:00 p.m., Front Royal, Virginia**

It was at this time that a thought that should have occurred to him in his apartment finally caught up to him: If calling her was desperate and needy, making a hasty trip to Memphis was probably getting dangerously close to psycho territory.

He checked his atlas and watch and decided that he had came too far to turn around now.

He pulled into a truck stop and bought a big cup of turbo coffee and made a mental note to come up with a less crazy story to use should he ever need to explain this to Sweets.

**12:00 a.m., Blacksburg, Virginia**

His knuckles were white around the steering wheel.

His eyes were wide open as the aroma of his fourth high octane coffee danced around his nose.

An empty 5 Hour Energy bottle rolled around in the floorboard on the passenger side and an unopened one taunted him from the dash.

He shoved a handful of sunflower seeds into his mouth and began shelling them and spitting the seeds into an empty coffee cup.

He was a mad man.

God!

What was wrong with him? What the hell possessed him to get out here and drive all the way to Memphis?

His eye twitched a little with a mixture of caffeine overload and sleep deprivation as he drove down the highway.

Most of the time it was just him and the long-haul truckers.

They were men on missions.

**4:00 a.m., Knoxville, Tennessee**

As the sun began to peak up over the Appalachians, Booth's stomach protested. It begged for real food rather than the beef jerky and sunflower seeds he had been snacking on all night.

He pulled into a truck stop with a diner and went in. He found a seat at the counter and ordered.

A grizzly-looking truck driver sat next to him. The man looked Booth over with his heavy-lidded dark eyes under the brim of a cap bearing the logo of some Midwestern truck stop and smirked, "Don't look like any trucker I seen," the man chuckled.

"I'm not a trucker. I'm an FBI agent," Booth replied, not making eye contact.

"Watcha drivin' for then?"

"Didn't have time to get a plane ticket."

"FBI can't getcha on a plane?"

"Not on FBI business."

"Watcha doin' then?"

"Driving to Memphis?"

"But not fer business?"

"No. Not for business."

"Then what fer?

"A friend."

"They sick?"

"Nah, its just...nothing."

"Now come on, tell Big Rocko yer prollems," the man coaxed with a comforting grin.

"Well, ya see, I work with this woman-"

The trucker slammed his hands on the table and smiled, "Knew it was a woman!" he declared.

Booth blushed a little, but continued, "So, I work with this woman and she isn't...isn't normal. She's- uh- hyper-rational and doesn't really get feelings or love or things like that. Anyway, she's at a conference in Memphis-"

"And you can't stop thinkin' 'bout her," Big Rocko completed as Booth's food arrived.

He nodded as he began eating.

"Tell me somethin', J. Edgar, you think 'bout this lady often?"

"Uh...yeah, I guess. I mean, the thoughts have changed a bit. I'm sure most men who meet her probably give her a few lustful thoughts and I did...for a while, but- uh- my thoughts have...changed."

"To?"

"More...domestic thoughts," Booth mumbled, looking at his plate.

"You imagine seeing her everyday fer the rest of yer life?"

"I- uh- yeah. That'd be nice."

"You imagine her as yer wife?"

"She'd never go for that."

"Not what I asked._ Do you_?"

Booth used his fork to play with the scrambled eggs on his plate, "Mmhmm."

"Having yer children?"

"I- uh- yeah, I guess I do."

"Huh," Big Rocko sat back and smiled knowingly at Booth, "So, how long ya been drivin' to see her?"

Booth checked his watch, "About eight hours."

"Shoo! So, whaddiya think's the reason? I'm pretty sure there's only one reason I'd do something like that."

"I- uh-"

"You're in love with her!" Big Rocko shouted, clapping Booth on the back,

Booth froze for a second.

He loved Bones.

Absolutely.

Without a doubt.

Completely.

_He loved Bones._

"I've gotta go," Booth said, fumbling for his wallet.

"Don't worry 'bout it. I'll cover ya," Big Rocko said with a smile.

"Thank you so much. Anything I can do for you?" Booth exclaimed, enthusiastically shaking Big Rocko's hand.

"Tell your lady whatcha know," he smiled.

"I will," Booth promised with a side grin as he ran out of the cafe.

**11:00 a.m., Memphis, Tennessee**

Booth pulled into a parking spot near the Peabody and ran into the building.

The lobby was opulent with a man playing soft jazz on a piano and ducks quacking in the fountain. Tourists and guests milled about, looking at maps or pointing at items in the shops.

Booth didn't notice any of this; he ran up to the desk and slammed his hands on the marble counter.

A black man in an expensive suit gave him a disapproving once over and drawled, "Can I help you, sir?"

"Yeah, I need to find one of your guests," Booth explained.

"I'm sorry, sir, I cannot divulge our guests' room numbers without authorization," the man stated calmly.

"I _really _to know. Don't make this get ugly," Booth threatened.

A flash of panic momentarily flickered across the man's dark eyes.

Booth was sure that were he in the man's position, he would be calling the police. An unshaven man with disheveled clothing and hair, bloodshot eyes, and coffee breath who was demanding to see a guest. He understood the man's skepticism.

He glanced at the man's name tag, took a deep breath, leaned on the counter, and began again in a calmer tone, "Okay, Beauford, I know this looks bad, but you see," he pulled out his badge and subtly showed it to the man, "I'm FBI and I drove all night from Washington, D.C. to see one of your guests...She's really important to me, so unless you want me to go federal on your ass, you'll tell me what room Dr. Temperance Brennan is in."

Beauford stared wide eyed at the badge before taking a deep breath and typing on his computer.

"Room twelve-eighty-seven; would you like a key?"

"Please," Booth grinned.

Beauford scanned a card and handed it to booth, "Have a good day, sir."

"You, too."

Booth practically jogged to the elevator where he bounced on his heels as it ascended to Brennan's floor.

He exited the elevator and made his way to her room.

He knocked four times and waited.

Nothing.

He knocked three more times and called, "Bones?"

More nothing.

He knocked twice and put his ear to the door and listened.

Silence.

He knocked once more before putting his key in the door and opening it.

"Bones?" he called out again as he entered. He looked through the hotel room. She wasn't there.

He sat down on the end of the bed and put his head in his hands. It seemed that he could never get his timing right.

He noticed a brochure on the desk; it was for the convention she was at. Booth looked it over and saw that the speaker listed for 11 today was 'renowned forensic anthropologist and author, Dr. Temperance Brennan'. He sighed. She wouldn't be back here for a while. He decided that it would be best to not be sitting in her room when she came back so he sulked back to the elevator and down to the lobby.

He felt like a dark cloud loomed over him as he bought a city map at a gift shop and he left the hotel. He set out walking with no particular place in mind to see, but he eventually ended up in Tom Lee Park alongside the Mississippi River.

He walked down to a rail overlooking the river and leaned on it. He looked north and watched traffic flowing across the Hernando de Soto Bridge like blood through a vein; like ants in a line.

Constant.

Going, going, going.

He looked across the river at Arkansas and imagined how scary this place would have looked during the time of de Soto's expedition. For all de Soto knew, there were headhunters armed with bows on each side of the river, but that didn't stop him. Of course, if Bones were here, she would remind him that de Soto eventually died and his body was sank into Lake Chicot in southern Arkansas because his crew was afraid that if the natives knew that they weren't' gods, they would have them all killed; so de Soto was really more of a showman than a man of no fear. Booth shook his head to get her voice out of it.

He stared down into the river and watched it flow. It could easily kill a man; crush their bones against the pilings of the Harahan Bridge just a little downriver. Then it would carry the bits past the Civil War dead of Vicksburg, past the plantations of Natchez, past the tigers of Baton Rouge, past the levees of New Orleans, and out into the deep dark waters of the Gulf of Mexico. This river had been here for millenia; never stopping, always going. Always moving along without ever stopping to rest. In a constant journey to the end.

Sometime during his pondering, the sky had opened up and rain was now pounding on Booth's head, back, and shoulders.

His stomach churned and he decided that the least he could do was eat. He spotted a cafe across the street and walked in.

A heavyset older woman with a grandmotherly air looked at him from the other side of the counter, "Oooh, honey, what's got you out in the rain? You gonna catch your death out there like that!"

"Didn't know it was raining," Booth grumbled.

"Son, don't you talk to me like that. What's got you so blue?"

"Nothing...must be the rain."

"Not if you didn't know it was raining it isn't."

"You got me there," Booth grinned, unable to resist the calming vibe the older woman seemed to emit.

"See, that's a good boy. Shoot! With a smile like that any girl'd be lucky to have you."

"Well, that's why I'm in Memphis."

"Oh, so its woman troubles you're havin'. Luckily, you are talking to none other than _the _Muriel St. John, Memphis' top expert on love," the woman smiled as Booth took a seat at the counter and she poured him a cup of coffee.

"Well, Muriel, I'm Seeley Booth, Washington's top expert on being really confused. Let's see if you can sort out my problems."

"Honey, I _know _can," Muriel smiled, pulling a stool up to the counter, "Tell me your troubles."

"Well, you see, I work with a woman; she doesn't understand heart-things so well, but I love her more than I ever thought I could love someone. She came down here, but forgot to tell me she was leaving. I called her and we talked, but it wasn't enough so I drove all night so I could get down here to see her-"

"Shoot, honey! You don't need my help; you know exactly what you're doin' and you're doin' it _just right_," Muriel said, patting Booth's hand.

"But I can't find here. She's never anywhere I look," Booth continued.

A bell jingled behind booth and he heard the room becoming more crowded. Muriel watched the crowd filtering in over Booth's shoulder before replying, "Maybe ya just gotta keep looking." Booth, who had been rubbing his eyes with his hand, opened his eyes to question Muriel, but she was gone.

He scanned the room, looking for her, but he didn't see her. However, his eyes kept going back to a large group talking near the door.

Then it happened.

On his fourth sweep, he glanced at the group and brown locked onto blue.

"Bones!" he cried out involuntarily.

"Booth?" she questioned, breaking away from the group. She walked toward him with a worried look, "Booth, is something wrong? Why are you here?"

Rather than answer, he took her into his arms and said, "I missed you."

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Muriel standing there with a coffeepot and a smile.

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**A.N.: **Well, two down and one to go. The last chapter is the one I'm most concerned about OOC-wise, but I've made it this far so I might as well go ahead and post the last one. Thanks again for all the reviews and please continue to review!

Also, Muriel's first name might be a referance to someone mentioned in the song _Walking in Memphis_, but I never specified if she plays the piano every Friday at the Hollywood.


	3. Cinco de Mayo in Memphis

**DISCLAIMER: **I don't own anything that you read here and, you know, recognize as being owned by someone else.

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**AUTHOR'S NOTE:** Well, this is the last chapter of this little fic. I hope that you've enjoyed it and that I didn't get too OOC, here. I enjoyed writing them.

Also, this was written...months before the season finale, so...we're just pretending that that didn't happen (or didn't happen yet, whatever floats your boat).

* * *

_They all came to get 'em some Memphis_

_A little somethin' for their soul._

_-Jimmy Buffett_

_**Cinco de Mayo in Memphis**_

* * *

Brennan tensed up in the embrace and Booth let her go and backed off a but.

"Are you okay?" he asked, looking at her.

"Am _I _alright? Booth, you look manic. What are you doing here?" she asked, taking in her partner with wide eyes.

"I'm uh...well, ya see...can we step outside and talk about this?"

"Booth, its pouring outside."

He ran a hand through his soaked hair and mumbled, "Right."

A moment of thick silence passed where he looked at his feet and she studied him. Finally, she said, "Something is wrong, isn't it?"

"Listen, Bones, I just...I don't want to try to talk to you in this crowd, okay? Is there anywhere quieter we could go to talk?" he responded.

"We could go to my hotel room," she offered.

He paused for a moment to think, then nodded and said, "Yeah, that's good."

She nodded and walked back to her group, said something, picked up her jacket, waved, and walked back. "Let's go," she said, pulling on her jacket and walking toward the door.

Booth held the door open for her and waved goodbye to Muriel. He followed Bones to her rental car and they rode in silence back to the Peabody.

Still silent, they went up to her room. He slumped down onto the foot of her bed and dropped his head into his hands. She stood in front of him with her arms folded across her chest and watched him. He looked defeated. Something in her chest felt like it melted and her suspicion, though not decreasing, lost its malicious fear.

"Booth, are you okay?" she asked, her voice unintentionally forming a soft tone.

"Tired," he said, looking up at her and cracking a smile. He had dark circles under his bloodshot eyes.

"Why are you here, Booth?"

"I-uh...I don't really know," he replied, chuckling a little.

"You weren't intoxicated, were you?"

"No. I know that. I was not, and am not, drunk."

"Did you drive here?"

"Yeah, all night. About seventeen hours."

"Booth! That is not good for your health! You aren't a college student anymore! You're almost forty! That is much too late in life for your body to be forced into coping with that stress!"

"No one ever accused me of being smart, Bones. You're the smart one, remember? You're the brains, I'm the heart?"

"So, are you implying that you drove all night for some 'heart' issue?"

"I guess you could say that...I miss you, Bones."

"I miss you, too, Booth. We said that on the phone. I do not understand why you had to tell me this in person."

"I guess I just needed to see you," he mumbled.

"Well, here I am. I hardly believe that's worth risking your life over!"

"For once in your life, Bones, you couldn't be more wrong."

"What are you-"

"Bones, you are always worth risking my life. I would do anything for you," he interrupted.

"So, you would have felt fine if you had died trying to see me? Did you _ever_ think about what _I _would do if _you _died? Booth, I've been there, remember? And things have changed since then! I couldn't take it now!"

"Wait," he said quietly, but with force, "You think something's changed?"

"From my side of our relationship, I have observed changes that have occurred with increasing rapidity in the past few months," she said with the air someone reporting a change in the growth rate of tomato plants factoring in the relationship of two species of bees.

Science.

He had scared her into science.

"I'm not doubting that there's been change between us, Bones, I'm just a little shocked to hear you say it."

She looked at him timidly, "I don't know that I can quantify the change, though...It's more of a..."

"Feeling?" he offered.

"I suppose that would be a logical categorization for determining this change. I _feel _it...in my heart. As completely illogical as that seems-"

"Logic doesn't matter with feelings, Bones, they make their own rules," he said with a smile.

"Given the events of this weekend, I would say that I concur with that assertion," she said, nodding.

He chuckled, "You know, Bones, as much as I hate the way you talk, I really like to hear you talk...I like to _see _you talk, too."

She smirked, "Booth, that makes no sense. You're tired; you should sleep."

"Nah, I'm fine," he brushed off as his eyes sagged closed.

"Booth!" she called, reaching over to shake his arm.

He grinned, "'m just resting my eyes."

"Booth, it is not advisable for you to remain awake."

"Did I miss the part where you added an 'M.D' to the end of your name?" he teased.

"No, I am not a medical doctor, but if you really will only take advice from one, I am quite sure that Dr. Saroyan would tell you the same as I am," she reached over to pick up her cell phone.

He reached out and grabbed her hand, "No, no, that's okay, Bones. If you say I need to sleep, I'll sleep. You look tired, too, Bones. Why don't you lie down with me?"

"No, that's fine. I can sit up and work on something-"

"I can't sleep with lights on _and_ it's bad for your eyes to work in poor light."

"I can go out-"

"Then how will you know I'm really sleeping? Besides, it's pouring."

She looked out the window and allowed the rain to lull her eyes to a half-open state. She yawned.

"See? Sleep," he pulled on her shoulders and she soon was no longer resisting. He pulled her to him and she closed her eyes. She felt her body relax for the first time since she had left D.C..

She sighed contentedly and said, "I'm glad you came to Memphis, Booth."

He kissed the top of her head and replied, "I'm glad I came, too."


End file.
